Santa Claus's Partner eBook

The furniture was old and worn, but it was not mean.
A few old pieces gave the room, small as it was, almost
an air of distinction. Several old prints hung
on the walls, a couple of portraits in pink crayon,
such as St. Mimin used to paint, and a few photographs
in frames, most of them of children,—­but
among them one of Livingstone himself.

All this Livingstone took in as he entered. The
room was in a state of confusion, and a lounge on
one side, with its pillows still bearing the imprint
of an occupant, showed that the house held an invalid.
In one corner a Christmas-tree, half dressed, explained
the litter. It was not a very large tree; certainly
it was not very richly dressed. The things that
hung on it were very simple. Many of them evidently
were of home-manufacture—­knots of ribbon,
little garments, second-hand books, even home-made
toys.

A small pile of similar articles lay on the floor,
where they had been placed ready for service and had
been left by the tree-dressers on their hasty departure.

Clark’s eye followed instinctively that of the
visitor.

“My wife has been dressing a tree for the children,”
he said simply.

He faced Livingstone and offered him a chair.
He stiffened as he did so. He was evidently prepared
for the worst.

Livingstone sat down. It was an awkward moment.
Livingstone broke the ice.

“Mr. Clark, I have come to ask you a favor—­a
great favor—­”

Clark’s eyes opened wide and his lips even parted
slightly in his astonishment.

“—­I want you to lend me your little
girl—­the little girl I saw in the office
this afternoon.”

Clark’s expression was so puzzled that Livingstone
thought he had not understood him.

“‘The Princess with the Golden Locks,’”
he explained.

“Mr. Livingstone!—­I—­I
don’t understand.” He looked dazed.

Livingstone broke out suddenly: “Clark,
I have been a brute, a cursed brute!”

“Oh! Mr. Liv—!”

With a gesture of sharp dissent Livingstone cut him
short.

“It is no use to deny it, Clark,—­I
have—­I have!—­I have been a brute
for years and I have just awakened to the fact!”
He spoke in bitter, impatient accusation. “I
have been a brute for years and I have just realized
it.”

The face of the other had softened.

“Oh, no, Mr. Livingstone, not that. You
have always been just—­and—­just;”
he protested kindly. “You have always—­”

“You are not well, Mr. Livingstone,” urged
Clark, looking greatly disturbed. “Your
servant, James, said you were not well this evening
when I called. I wanted to go in to see you, but
he would not permit me. He said that you had
given positive orders that you would not see—­”

“I was not well,” assented Livingstone.
“I was suffering from blindness. But I
am better, Clark, better. I can see now—­a
little.”